


Mysterious Planet

by Ghanima_Starkiller



Series: Star Wars fic [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: New Republic Era - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghanima_Starkiller/pseuds/Ghanima_Starkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leia is summoned to a mysterious, dark planet to negotiate the native peoples' defection to the newfounded New Republic but not everything is at it seems</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mysterious Planet

**Author's Note:**

> Post-RotJ, I suppose this would be considered Alt. Verse since I don't follow continEUity. Written as a Halloween challenge for a now-defunct Star Wars messageboard, hence the holiday-themed silliness!

Electricity flashed across the deep red sky of Navigational Orbiting Satellite 482, leaving a momentary tear and disappearing as it lit the sparse forest and large manse, its spindly metal spires like bony fingers reaching crookedly upward, in the near distance. Leia shivered: it reminded her of Palpatine’s palace on Coruscant. A village of plain brown, pre-fab plastisteel huts lay just beyond, almost indistinguishable from the dirt plane it sat on.

The Princess tutted, tapping her chin with her finger as she surveyed the scene; a cold wind whipping across the planet’s surface made her wish she had opted for something a little more practical than the royal red shimmersilk gown and cloak, the latter which was affixed at her bosom with a brooch embossed with the symbol of the New Republic. She was to be ambassador to this small world, after all. Double braids encircled the crown of her head, her long brunette tresses tumbling from the plaited rings and cascading down her back. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she told Han as he came up behind her, moving her hair with his fingers to place his hand against the small of her back.

“Yeah, well, we won’t have to stay long.” He tried his best to sound reassuring though something about the place unsettled him as well. “Besides, you’re good at this. You’ll see: easy.” He turned to Chewbacca, who was standing on the Falcon’s ramp, and gave him a look that said anything but. The Wookiee moaned balefully. “We’ll be all right, big fella; you just wait here and take care of her,” he told his co-pilot, laying his hand on the outer plating of their ship.

“And what about me?” Luke asked, coming down the ramp, wrapping his black cloak about him. “Something here… doesn’t feel right. Almost like, I don’t know, an echo. You can feel it. You going to be all right in there?”

Leia breathed deeply, letting the air from her lungs slowly. “For the time being, we don’t know how the Strigoi would react to seeing or being in the presence of a trained Jedi Master; you could be our greatest asset or hindrance.” Luke nodded understandingly; Chancellor Mothma had entrusted this mission to Leia, her first, and though he didn’t know his sister to always err on the side of caution, he recognized that discretion was the right course to take in this situation.

“Be careful,” Luke called out to them as Han took Leia’s arm and the two began to walk towards the castle.

Han turned his head and, with a crooked smile, replied, “Hey, it’s me!” Luke and Chewie exchanged an amused but troubled glance and Han could swear he could hear the Wookiee chuckling as he descended the landing pad.

***  
“What, no welcome party?” Han frowned, feigning indignant hurt; swiftly, his hand moved his heavy duster aside and fell upon his blaster snug in its holster. The whole thing didn’t feel right and he couldn’t shake the sense they were being watched. “I thought they were expecting us,” he said, lowering his voice as he glowered up at the tall, dully shining doors behind the cullis gate of the castle.

“I thought so too,” she replied, throwing him a concerned sideways glance. The courtyard surrounding the palace was eerily empty. The air was filled with whispers, suggestions of human forms made up of spectral mists floated by them, something they had been warned of but were not entirely prepared to face, especially when every now and again one could be heard uttering a curse or a warning to stay away.

They both started in unison as the cullis began a creaking ascent, fighting against seemingly years of rust in the chilly, damp climate. The doors reluctantly began to slowly swing open as they stepped through into the antechamber: an enormous hall dimly lit by chandeliers adorned with rows of thin columns of burning coagulated animal fat. The flames coming from wicks at the top of the miniature pillars cast uneven shadows across the dusty old rug, its pattern had been worn away ages ago and now existed only as a hint of colors. “Well, what they lack in hospitality, they more than make up for in ambience,” Han commented wryly.

“Just keep your eye open, hot shot,” Leia shot back.

He took her hand and squeezed it affectionately, swallowing softly as he gazed up at the immense portraits that lined the walls. Ancestors of the royal family, he assumed, and they didn’t at all look friendly as they leered disapprovingly even menacingly from their perches. “Both of them, if I can help it, your highnessness.”

An expansive, curving old stair climbed grandly four storeys at the far end of the room, draped in cobwebs like shimmersilk. Descending from a second floor landing was a strikingly handsome man, perhaps around Han’s own age, perhaps a bit younger for there was something curiously yet ambivalently youthful about him; certainly no older than forty cycles in appearance. With elegantly shaped cheekbones, hooded eyes the color, or lack thereof, of dying stars and lustrous, shoulder-length threads of hair as dark and rich as coffeine, he could have only been the Count. Leia smiled to herself as she felt Han’s grip tighten possessively around her slender fingers.

“You must be Ambassador Organa,” the new arrival said in a surprisingly smooth alien accent Leia couldn’t quite, in all of her galactic travels, place. “I welcome you to my humble abode.” Han scoffed and Leia tutted at him. “We here who populate NOS 482 are... private but we see the advantages of an alliance with the New Republic. Good evening, I am Count Ushus Gregor and I am pleased you could make it.” He reached the ground floor and stopped in front of Leia, taking her hand gently and raising it to his lips. “I must admit, I did not expect our visiting dignitary to be such a stunning beauty.”

Leia rolled her eyes inwardly; she knew the gown had been a bad idea. She remembered the lecherous stares of the Imperial Senators far too well, shuddered at memories of whispered suggestions of how they could be swayed to her way of thinking. It was worth it all just to see the look on Han’s face; he had to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud when she caught sight of his expression. Gregor cleared his throat as he redirected his attention to her companion and bowed stiffly. “And you must be Ambassador Organa’s consort.”

“Count Gregor,” Leia introduced, halting Han’s response before he could open his mouth and draw breath to utter one, “this is one of the New Republic’s greatest heroes, General Han Solo. He served at the Battle of Endor. He is my escort for these negotiations.”

“Ah,” Gregor said tersely; he was evidently not at all happy with the situation which only made Han more pleased he had insisted to come along. “We have... heard of you.” The count told him flatly and left it at that as he turned back to Leia. “If you would care to join us, my servants just informed me of your arrival as I was just about to partake in repast. Dinner?” Leia accepted graciously though she was becoming more and more uneasy; perhaps it was the atmosphere or the building electrical storm outside, but she was unsettled. She had expected only parley, maybe a drink or two; dinner was not planned but it seemed the wisest choice to go along with Gregor.

If possible, the dining hall was even more massive than the great room they had just come from. A table that seated perhaps a hundred was set and Gregor ushered them forward, pulling the tall wooden chair out for Leia as she rested upon the crimson cushion of its seat. She took a sniff of the viscous scarlet liquid that filled her goblet, unsure of it; it was certainly no wine she had ever sampled before. She raised it to her lips to take a sip but Han caught her hand and stopped her. “I wouldn’t,” he shook his head and said no more.

The feast was pleasant enough, the main course was some sort of native creature, roasted to succulence and even Han had to admit, it was quite appetizing. Conversation was light, no matter how strongly Leia tried to steer it towards the subject of the New Republic. As desert, a sweet smelling fruit drenched in cream, was being served, they were joined by an elegant, aristocratic young woman who shared much of the same traits as Gregor, such as her cold eyes and sleek russet tresses.

“My consort, Ushus Camilla,” the count introduced and the lady bowed, her heavy amber brocade gown brushing the floor. “She tells me that the hour grows late and that, unfortunately or fortunately for me,” he eyed Leia, “the atmospheric phenomenon you glimpsed in coming here has worsened. It does plague us so! An ion storm in our upper atmosphere; it would be very dangerous for you to try and take off now, you would be flying blind.”

“I’m willing to chance it,” Han said through gritted teeth, suspicious. Leia was inclined to agree but Gregor insisted, ordering his seemingly invisible servants to prepare a room for them as he invited Leia to his study to discuss the Republic further, offhandedly telling Han he could contact the Falcon from a console in his chambers. “You keep an eye out,” he murmured to her, catching her arm as she swept by him.

“Both, if I can help it,” she promised, kissing him lightly on the lips. She left on the Count’s arm.

“Hey, how’re you doin’?” he quirked an eyebrow awkwardly at the Lady Ushus Camilla, who was standing silently nearby. Her dark eyes were regarding him rather licentiously as she coyly bit her blood red lip, placing the tip of her polished crimson thumb enticingly between her teeth. “I-I’ll be going- now.” He nodded, circling her as he moved towards the door while maintaining a comfortable distance from her. “I’m guessing the guest rooms are this way. Right then.”

***  
“No, Chewie, listen to me,” Han was almost yelling into the antiquated comms equipment that took up roughly a third of his bedchamber’s adjoining sitting room. The place was musty, unpleasant and, though the walls were covered in floor to ceiling windows, it felt claustrophobic, like the tombs on the dead planet of Coffu. Everything was crafted of obsolete designs in wood, from manual doorways to the gigantic four-poster bed with its faded coverlet; Han had briefly considered how to best put to use the latter as he had tested the flat mattress but had quickly dismissed the notion as his apprehension grew. “I need you to be ready in case we want to get outta here quickly. You gotta stay with her, buddy.”

“Leia,” he heard Luke’s voice crackle in the background so faintly he had to strain to detect whether the Jedi had spoken further.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” Han assured them uneasily. “This Count Gregor may be a creep but I don’t think he’s anything I couldn’t handle and you know I’m looking out for Leia.” Silence. Yeah, Luke knew. “Okay, so just keep her hot, you got it, Chewie?” A growl in the affirmative. “Well, that’s it, kids; doze off if you can but be ready to make a run if we have to. Sleep tight. Solo out.”

The upright, wood-paneled chronometer hiding in the deep shadows of the corner of the room farthest from the windows struck with a chime as it reached the hour and Han realized how late it had grown. He had probably drifted off to sleep atop the dusty counterpane, fully clothed, about a standard hour ago when he had decided to rest his eyes until Leia returned. It was the dead of night and she had not rejoined him yet. A tight knot formed in his stomach and he was alert instantly, on his feet and running towards the door repeating to himself that the princess could look after herself. As he opened the portal and began to rush out, he almost barreled straight into Camilla.

Recovering himself, he could only stare dumbfounded at the girl, her hair in loose ringlets cascading down the diaphanous violet nightdress she wore. Her lips were full and pouty, the color of Corellian wine and uncomfortably close to his as she playfully toyed with a curling lock of her glossy tresses. Lightning broke the sky behind him, blanching everything in its chilly glow for an instant and fading away. “It scares me, the storm,” she said demurely. “Will you not comfort me?”

“Listen, sweetheart,” Han chuckled anxiously, wondering how in the seven hells he was going to get himself out of this one, “you seem like a really nice kid, you do!” She was urging him backwards, back into his chamber as he tried desperately not to stare at the voluptuous bosom that was nearly erupting from her gown. “It’s just that me and Leia -Ambassador Organa- we’re, y’know. But I swear, if we weren’t, I mean, that’s... quite impressive,” he cleared his throat, nodding towards her prominent décolletage.

“I would not worry about her anymore,” Camilla laughed, though it was neither mirthful nor pleasant; more like maliciously sportive. “She is with the master now; he has taken a fancy to her. I think he will make her one of his brides. As for you, I think perhaps he can be persuaded to give you to me as my... plaything.”

“His bride?” Han jeered with a crooked smirk, his mind racing to get around her words as the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. “Right, things can never just be easy for us, can they? I don’t know what exactly your problem is, lady, but I think it’s time we’re leaving, me *and* the ambassador.”

“You are mistaken,” she snarled, opening her mouth wide. Han watched in horror as her incisors grew to sharp points between her ruby lips. “You will never be leaving again,” she cackled, knocking him onto his back; the breath left him in a large gust as he hit the hard mattress and she straddled him, her teeth going for his neck. He swore at himself for removing his blaster before laying down and was taken unawares by her unnatural strength as he grappled with her.

He was finally able to throw her and she landed hard against a chair. Han seized the momentary distraction and made a run for his weapon, resting in its holster over the door of an armoire. He drew it and aimed but was quickly aware that it was not needed: her fall had broken the chair and a long, pointed splinter had broken from the piece of furniture and impaled her through the chest. She was writhing, screeching like a thing possessed, as her skin melted to nothing but ashes, her skeletal frame crumbling shortly afterwards into soil. Han was dumbstruck, almost shaking until one single thought was able to penetrate his shock: Leia! He had to find Leia and get out of this place!

***  
Leia was tiring of talking in circles, her goal always in sight but never the closer. Gregor was a bore; she supposed he meant to impress her with the past deeds of his warrior ancestors and their holo-portraits that lined his study walls. The resemblances were striking, she considered, standing in front of a victorious king raising his sword in triumph as he stood atop a small hillock of headless bodies. Goddess, but she was going to fall asleep on her feet if he either didn’t stop talking or let her retire; the idea of relaxing in Han’s arms, if even for an hour, had become a very appealing one as the count had droned on and on. She had wisely avoided the wine, as Han had warned her to do.

“You are a strong fighter,” he was saying, “a champion. We have heard many tales of your exploits. Our people respect heroics, that is why I requested you. I’d no idea you would be so... alluring as well.” Again, the flattery, the compliments on her appearance were growing tremendously tiresome. Was it just her weariness, or was it getting darker, was she getting more fatigued? She could feel her shoulders relaxing against her will and it seemed as if she just could not keep her eyelids from sagging.

“I should really...” The words died on her tongue as she turned to face him. His eyes were hypnotic, trance-like.

He held up a slender, pale hand, displaying on his ring finger a large red jewel. An heirloom, he explained, and looking into its unfathomable, iridescent depths, Leia began to feel faint. “A warrior aristocrat,” he said in a breathless whisper and she could feel his hot respire upon her exposed neck, “that is what the rebellious Strigoi need and you, my dear, are perfect. You will make me a strong consort.”

Consort, was he joking? She tried to move, tried to struggle but to no avail; she had fallen under his thrall and there was no resisting him, wrestle as she might with herself. “Come,” he commanded and she obeyed as he opened a secret panel in the wall; stone stairs lead down, down into the bowels of the castle. “Tonight, we will have ourselves a new queen!”

***  
Luke awoke with a gasp, narrowly avoiding smashing his head on the Falcon’s low bunk ceiling as he bolted upright. Leia! Leia was in danger! Reaching out his arm, he felt the cool cylinder of his lightsabre hilt meet his hand, gripping it tightly. He didn’t have time to explain things to Chewie, as if he could have if he had; he instructed the Wookiee to get all systems online and be ready for a quick jump.

***  
Luke had been thrown by the lack of guards in and about the palace; whoever lived here was sure confident enough to believe they didn’t need protecting in a place like this. The emerald glow of his lightsabre blade seemed sickly in the suffocating blackness and cast hideous silhouettes against the stone walls as he descended into the lower levels of the castle. There had been a stair leading upwards in the entry hall but Luke had felt the Force call out to him from a bolted door tucked away beneath the winding flight of steps. Again, he felt that echo, almost like ghosts. The planet‘s native life forms, the wraiths, unnerved him with their morose sighs; he could feel them faintly in the Force, see their sullen faces. It gave him a chill. “Hello?” he called, thinking he had heard something like a subtle sigh or murmur not uttered by the floating apparitions.

“Help us!” a woman’s voice implored of him suddenly from behind a heavy looking door to his left; her voice was thick and sweet with a lush accent he did not recognize but found persuading nonetheless. Two other females joined in her pleas as they beseeched, “Help, help us, please! We are but poor village girls that Count Gregor has locked up in here for his own amusement! Ichi-ma help us! Please, you must hurry!”

“Please, we can help you find your sister,” one of the others promised but Luke was already searing through the lock with his weapon. The portal swept open and a flock of mynocks flew out at him unexpectedly, making his jump. When the blur of black bodies cleared, he found himself face to face with three astonishingly enticing women, their rich hair colors ranging from deep, curling rust to snow-white, their zaftig bodies clad only in robes of flowing gossamer. “We are grateful, are we not, sisters?” the second asked, her purple mouth curving into a harsh smile.

“We are, Meena, we are,” the other two agreed enthusiastically. “Let us thank him, let us thank him!”

“Wait,” Luke said, taking a step backwards and narrowing his eyes as he regarded them. “How did you know Ambassador Organa was my sister?” All at once, the women began to hiss, revealing sharp fangs forming in their luscious mouths. Luke yelped as Meena first grabbed him, curling her sharp fingernails into his thick vest, her ‘sisters’ joining in as they pulled him into their darkened room, the door slamming closed behind them.

***  
Han had his blaster drawn as he kicked down the door to Gregor’s study, ready immediately to attack but finding the room distressingly empty. Over a standard hour passed as he meticulously searched the lair for clues, anything at all that seemed out of place. He triggered the secret door by straightening one of the gory holo-portraits and, for good measure, smashed the thing to the floor before descending into the enveloping blackness of the newly uncovered tunnel.

Feeling his way along the wall, he moved cautiously, readying his gun at every turn. An unidentifiable sound brought his attention to a doorway and his eyes widened as he recognized the melting that marred the lock as being caused by something of a lightsabre’s strength. He gave a great whooping war cry as he charged through the door and found Luke lying on a luxurious bed being smothered by the supple bosoms of three admittedly attractive women. “Er, Han!” Luke squealed in surprise, jolting his body upwards on to his feet, wiping the colored lip cream marks from his face and neck. “I was... they are... this is not what it looks like!”

“Y’know, I honestly don’t want to know, kid,” Han shook his head, hoping his eyebrows hadn’t shot up completely to his hairline. “Leia’s in trouble!”

“Leia!” Luke repeated as if only just remembering his disappeared sister. “She’s down this way,” he pointed down the ostensibly endless corridor, “I can feel her!” Han took off in the direction his friend had indicated and Luke made to follow, turning back only for an instant to consider the women, a lopsided grin on his face. “I, uh... ooph...”

“No time,” Han said gruffly, placing his hand firmly on the younger man’s shoulder and pulling him along.

***  
Leia lay motionless upon the ornately carved table. From what she could see, the place he had brought her was little more than a torture chamber; cruel looking instruments whose purposes she didn’t even want to think on were strewn about. She was not bound but she could not move, making her want to cry out in frustration. She abhorred being helpless, weak. Gregor smiled over her, running a finger against the graceful curve of her neck. “Don’t you understand, Leia, you will be beautiful, young forever. I will be good to you... when you obey me, naturally.” Leia’s eyes narrowed to slits; she didn’t at all care for the annotation and grunted as she made a feeble attempt to lash out. Ooh, he was lucky she wasn’t herself!

“It was not chance that brought you here, you know that,” he continued, performing an elaborate flourish with his hand as if indicating the curiously thick atmosphere, the indigenous spectral visions all but dancing in the strangely chilly air. Gregor walked through them as if they were nothing more than wisps of smoke, bursting through the torso of an armor-clad soldier whose exclamation of ‘I say!’ went largely ignored as the count brushed away the wafting curls of ectoplasm.

He was charming, she had to admit, and entirely handsome when he smiled sardonically like that; rather like her impression of Han upon their first meeting in the Death star cell block. And what in the Force was she thinking? She must have been far more gone than she had realized! She mustered her self control, bringing the Force to her as she coerced herself to calm, trying to find that still point that Luke had taught her to meditate upon; she was no use to anyone, not least herself, if she couldn’t keep her temper in check!

“Do you believe in providence, Leia?” he asked, his pale face hovering above hers in the darkness; he was brushing the hair and shimmersilk from her neck. “Destiny brought you to us, you were meant to be one of us! And today of all days, the eve of our most hallowed celebration!” he declared, snapping his teeth as his eyes drifted closed in a nearly euphoric; Leia watched in horror as the Count’s incisors became elongated and sharp, growing into a pair of beastly fangs. “It will only hurt a little, my love,” he assured her as he began to lower his head; the blood was thrumming in Leia’s veins.

‘Luke!’ she cried out with her mind and was relieved to receive an answering call. ‘Leia,” he brother replied, ‘Leia, hang on, we’re coming!’ But she couldn’t for much longer; she could feel the razor point of his teeth penetrate her flesh. ‘Luke,’ she called again, not in desperation but in absolute confidence. Gregor snarled angrily and staggered backwards.

“Touch her and you die, scumbag,” she heard Han’s voice, sonorous and gruff with fury and ferocity; she perceived the drone of Luke’s lightsabre and smiled inwardly. Her belief grew, her trust in herself, her loyalty to her loved ones, and she felt, even as Gregor was reeling into a black corner of the dungeon, a sense of control returning to her body. It was her faith, her faith was conquering him. More confident than ever, she drew the brooch of the New Republic from her breast and held it up towards him. He shrank away with a pitiful shriek as the object nearly glowed in the gloom.

“How severe is that atmospheric storm?” Leia inquired of her brother as the three -Luke brandishing his Jedi weapon, Han aiming his blaster and the princess still extending outwards her ornamental badge- slowly back out of the chamber and up a set of stone stair. “Can we take off?”

“Sweetheart,” Han responded wryly,” flyin’ blind into a raging fury of ionic energy may be crazy but it’s a hell of a lot less dangerous than stayin’ anywhere near here! ‘Sides, crazy‘s what I do best!” he cocked her a grin, which she returned with poisonous sweetness.

“I’m not arguing,” quipped Luke.

“And what were you doing down there?” Han scoffed irreverently in the younger man’s direction.

“My life was in danger!” Luke said defensively.

“What, those three were gonna nuzzle you to death?” chuckled Han.

“There was thrall! I was in their thrall! Thrall was being used!” Luke blushed. “Listen, let’s just get as far away from here as possible.”

“I don’t disagree. Sure you don’t want to say goodbye?” smirked Han. They finally turned their backs to the Count, who was now two floors down and far out of sight only to find themselves confronted and stalked by a creature that looked like a strange mutated form of a nexu, it’s silver hair bristling as it growled.

It stared at them through narrowed violet eyes, its pupils dark red, as it circled rapaciously and something about it seemed so familiar to Luke. His mouth agape, he heard himself asking: “Meena?”

“Someone you know?” Han enquired incredulously. The thing lunged at them but Luke was faster and, with a blur of green lightning, the beast fell to the ground, rent in two, its flesh still smouldering from the lightsabre’s impact. They spared only a moment to stare at each other disbelievingly as the thing reverted to the human form of a shrilling girl as it died, then broke into a run and didn’t stop until they had reached the Falcon.

“Chewie,” Han barked, falling effortlessly into the captain’s couch and pulling on his crash webbing, “punch it! We’re out of here!” The Wookiee gave a derisive growl but Han merely brushed it off. “Trust me, pal, it’s gonna be a lot more secure up there than it is down here! Just… do it!”

The ship bucked like a wild thing as they struggled through the ionically charged atmosphere, electricity breaking in lashes of lightning against the hull. At last, they broke free and the vast vacuum of black space spread out before them; Han could remember only a handful of time he’d been more happy to see the stars. Letting out a sigh of relief, he set their course for Coruscant and left Chewie at the controls.

Leia was standing in the recreation area, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, her eyes staring off into the distance. She was pale, a bit dazed, her skin white in contrast to the blood red of her gown. “Hey,” he said softly, taking her into his arms and resting his cheek upon the top of her head as he rocked her gently. “It’s over now, you’re safe. It’s a big ‘verse out there, sweetheart,” he grinned crookedly; the gesture was devoid of mirth. “Sometimes there’s just no sayin’ who or what is out there. Maybe it was all just… a bad dream. Now come on, you’re exhausted; I’ve got the bunk set up for you. Lemme show you a good dream,” he smiled roguishly.”

“It’s not that, Han,” she replied hoarsely. “I’ve just had a call from Chancellor Mothma. Han, Mon never commed us, she never gave me this assignment. She’s never even heard of NOS 482, let alone Count Gregor or the Strigoi. The planet doesn’t even appear on the Falcon’s navigational maps!”

“But… that’s impossible,” Han just stared. “We all saw the message: Heard her voice, glimpsed her image, plotted the co-ordinates. If not her, who?” They gaped at each other in wonder for a long moment. A deep chuckle reverberated quietly through the corridor just beyond them as unblinking red eyes watched...


End file.
